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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463001">Dust Motes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa'>Farmulousa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dust Motes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:55:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,965</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23463001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy doesn't know how everyone got to be just so <i>happy</i> but she's trying as hard as she can to leave the one place she's ever felt a glimmer of it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Remus Lupin/Pansy Parkinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dust Motes [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sing Me a Rare: The Mash-Ups</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dust Motes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/gifts">MaraudingManaged</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Sing Me a Rare: Mash Ups. </p><p>A MASSIVE thank you to my alphabeta MaraudingManaged, who this fic is now dedicated to. She did some incredible work on this before coming down with COVID-19 &amp; wasn't able to enter into the competition herself. </p><p>Song Prompts<br/>Physical - Dua Lipa/Grow As We Go - Ben Platt</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Pansy had been out every night that week. She went, one by one, through every friend she had, and a few enemies - or <em> former </em>enemies. She had wrestled Granger - whilst enduring a lecture on the politics of women’s fashion - into a short dress and tall shoes just the night before. However, it had become abundantly clear she had reached the end of the list of people that would be dragged to a Muggle club in mid-November. Hermione might have been the Golden Girl but her taste was… common. </p><p> </p><p>Pansy put a phenomenal amount of effort into looking entirely effortless. Effortless but rich; <em> diamond </em>rich. She owned the same dress in several different colours, tailored exactly to her body: they appeared indecently short but never showed too much of anything. The look was always finished with a pair of high-heeled silk shoes which glistened and glittered in a colour so close to her own pale skin that, when she danced until her legs shone with sweat, it was impossible to see where her delicate feet ended and her shoes began. </p><p> </p><p>That night, she was with Theo. Theo was <em> always </em> at the top of her list. He dressed impeccably; they went to the same tailor after all, and he was always tremendous fun. He would dance with her all night, but most importantly, he was delightfully obedient. Ever since they were children she was able to play with Theo to her heart’s content, but when she’d had enough of him, he would leave when told to. </p><p> </p><p>She was never <em> unkind </em> , of course. At Theo’s behest, she had made the gracious concession of going not only to a Muggle club, but a <em> gay </em>one. There, when Pansy could no longer pretend that she hadn’t somewhere else to be, she could abandon Theo knowing that he would be taken care of in a manner that suited him. </p><p> </p><p>Then, though, she could have gone all night. Theo was a riot to dance with when they got going: he would settle his hands on her waist as she wound her hips in a way that was <em> just </em> on the right side of decent. They would make all the right moves, and sometimes he would even kiss her. His kisses were theoretically perfect: his lips pillowed softly and he used just enough tongue. Theo would look after her and she would look after Theo, the way they had been since they were four years old and shared a French tutor. Pansy thought often that it would be far easier to be a girl who craved those sorts of safe, gentle kisses. </p><p> </p><p>But she didn’t.  </p><p> </p><p>“We should move on!” Pansy could only just hear the words, but she could tell he was shouting over the thumping music they were still moving to. It must have been later than she thought because the swirling lights cut out and Theo was gesturing wildly, mouthing, “Follow the noise.” </p><p> </p><p>The music was still blaring as Theo grabbed her hand tightly, pulling her towards the speakers near the exit of the club. Sweaty bodies poured out into the street outside, some attached at the mouth and pressed against walls or lingering in the middle of the road, but Theo just kept moving. Pansy could see dust motes in the lights flooding the Muggle street as she blinked blearily, her eyes adjusting to the clean, bright light; the nearest apparition point was still miles away. </p><p> </p><p>But it was clearer out here in the buzzing street lighting: the way that Theo smiled and laughed and spoke quickly pulled her more than his hand did. She wasn’t even listening to him, instead drowning in the bubbling adrenaline that radiated from every whiplike gesture and broad grin. </p><p> </p><p>And then Pansy <em> knew </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re seeing someone,” she accused him, stopping still, and he rebounded. He looked her in the eyes and tried to look contrite, tried to look cool, but Pansy could <em> see </em> the happiness that flowed from him. Some sodding Slytherin he made. </p><p> </p><p>“I am,” he admitted, his mask breaking finally as he beamed - all teeth and dimples. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s him, the Professor?” </p><p> </p><p>“It is,” he said, his smile never faltering. He walked back towards her and pushed one side of her sleek, sweaty hair behind her ear. “Pans…” </p><p> </p><p>“So that’s it, you’re completely <em> redeemed </em> then? One of <em> them </em> ?” She spat at him, cutting him off  but she couldn’t look him in the eye when she said it. She had known for some time that Theo would leave her because they <em> all </em> had. Every Slytherin from her year at school - at least, those who weren’t in Azkaban - had thrown themselves into the betterment of society. One by one they fell at the feet of a fabled hero, and now only Pansy remained. </p><p> </p><p>Kind of. </p><p> </p><p>“We will never be one of them, Pans,” Theo lifted her chin as she scoffed but it was enough eye contact for her to see his pity. “I can take you, if you’d like. You’re a bit gone to apparate alone, and I think I remember where his place is.”</p><p> </p><p>Pansy tried to argue with him, but she found Theo's announcement too overwhelming. She would usually, whenever the subject of her romantic life was brought up, scoff and sniff and move people forward in conversation - but she knew that Theo <em> knew </em>. Maybe they all knew. She followed Theo down towards the apparition point they usually used for this club and quickly checked she had her emergency change of clothes and shoes. They were the only indication that she intended to spend a night out of her own bed, and it was only when she saw the waxing moon did she bother to pack anything at all. </p><p> </p><p>Theo pulled her against him in the alley, safe from prying Muggle eyes, and she leaned against him heavily. </p><p> </p><p>“Hold on a little tighter, Pans - you ready?” He asked, making sure she was steady on her feet. He apparated them to the corner of a road that she only saw in the dark or the dawn. This was in an area where streets were still cobbled and a fine sheen of moisture reflected the streetlamps off each of the bricks that lined the road. Theo put his arm around her and walked her down the path. She tried to think of when he had ever been here, how he knew where to take her. Pansy considered stopping him from coming with her; but, she could admit to herself at least, she needed the moral support. </p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t be the only unhappy member of her cohort, Pansy was sure, but she refused to look for her happiness in other people. She didn’t <em> deserve </em> happiness. She’d just about dealt with the guilt of enjoying nights out, of being friends with a boy she'd once tried to give up for slaughter, and most of all of the guilt that she had seduced a man who would never, <em> could never </em> love her publically. </p><p> </p><p>What an embarrassment she would be to him. </p><p> </p><p>Theo knocked on the right door and after a few scant, chest-tightening moments, a light came on in the hallway. Pansy knew he’d be up; at this time of the month he would be awake until maybe three in the morning before sleeping restlessly -  but not for very long. He answered the door and blinked at Theo first with surprise. Theo was taller than both of them but he didn’t have much on the older man in front of them. </p><p> </p><p>“Lupin,” Theo said pleasantly, and pushed Pansy a little further into the threshold. “I thought I’d get her to you in one piece.” </p><p> </p><p>His eyes were on her, then. Their intensity was wild; storms of gold rolled over the sea-green beneath. They promised what she’d come for, and they threatened to overspill with feelings that she both craved and wanted to run from. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and then under her arm to pull her towards him, his lips quirking upward in a lopsided smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Say goodbye to Theo, Pansy,” He said with soft authority. She didn’t know if she said anything at all to the man who’d brought her here safely, but Lupin tugged her by the hand into the hallway. He slid his arm around her waist and placed his cheek against hers before he pushed forward to close the door behind her. She was entirely sober now, and his presence had heightened every sense she had. He looked down at her under the yellow light of the sconce behind her and she could see the scars that decorated him. They were the evidence of how indestructible he had been, they showed every battle he won - they were proof of his survival. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen someone in her circle with a visible scar, with a story that had even a little hardship. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t have a choice in this physical reaction she had to him. When he pulled away to use the Muggle electric buttons that turned off the lights, she felt her lips follow wherever his went. Her whole body moved in sync with his, her hands followed his as he turned to close the door to the room behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on.” He said, just loud enough for her to hear. </p><p> </p><p>She didn’t move right away this time. It was completely dark now and he had moved out of her orbit. She suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to do this. She didn’t want there to be the last time and if she didn’t do this then there would never be one but then he turned around. His eyes glowed gold in the dark. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t dark to him, she knew, but it was so dark to her that she didn’t have a choice but to follow the noise of his footsteps… until she found the candlelight glowing from the one room in that house she knew incredibly well. </p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Remus opened his eyes to dust motes swirling through the sunshine that splintered through the curtains, dancing in a pattern that followed the open bed covers on his right. He smoothed his hands over the bed sheet and felt the warmth where she’d been: she must still be in his home somewhere. He blinked rapidly - once, twice, three times - to clear the sleep from his eyes. He was still four days away from the full moon, but he could feel the incoming fatigue like a freight train. He would spend the next days fighting exhaustion, lust and immovable anger in equal parts. </p><p> </p><p>He hauled himself up to perch on the edge of the mattress when she came out of the bathroom in pressed linen slacks that sat high on her waist and a perfectly fitted cashmere jumper. Her hair fell just below her chin, sleek and shining; a small ruffle in her fringe the only sign that she hadn’t access to her own array of products and potions that morning. It was her bare feet that caught him, though: her perfectly pedicured toes that were never painted any colour other than a cool, pastel pink - and her slender ankles. If he didn’t know it was there, he wouldn’t have seen the glamour on her right ankle from where his teeth had marked her several hours before. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re up,” she stated, her expression one of vague disinterest. He wondered if it had been passed down to her through blood or by upbringing, because it was the same face recognised from every Pureblooded witch or wizard he’d ever come across. Her eyes flickered from his bare chest to his thighs and back up to his face dispassionately, but a warm blush flowered from beneath her collar to the apples of her cheeks. It was almost translucent, the way she blushed; a dusky, rosy hue that you could paint walls with. He would decorate his whole house the colour of her blush if he could. She took a breath in, and exhaled slowly. “I need to talk to you.” </p><p> </p><p>He’d known this was coming. <em> This </em>conversation: the reason that he couldn’t paint walls in her honour, the reason she glamoured the marks he left on her skin. </p><p> </p><p>“This is the last time this can happen,” she said quietly as she sat in the chair that he would normally only ever use as a clotheshorse. She placed her hands palm-upward on her knees and tucked her left foot behind her right ankle, the very picture of a high-society heiress. She held a reputation for being coldly beautiful, for her afternoon teas, her charity functions. She was everything her parents had ever wanted her to be, except that once a month she would spend several nights of the week in the bed of a werewolf civil servant. </p><p> </p><p>“Is there a reason we have to have this conversation every time, Pansy?” He asked, trying to soften his expression, as she hardened hers. He knew what he was doing; he knew that it wasn’t just the monster inside him that enticed her, but her empathy for the man he was. She remained silent for a handful of seconds before deflating very slightly. She still held her perfect posture but her shoulders curled inward, her head moving softly from side to side. </p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t ‘every time’, Remus. This is the last time. I can’t -” she appeared to force her face into a mask of calm control before blinking several times, the only indication that she was at all unsettled. “I have to leave for a while. I might go to Paris, or maybe Florence.”</p><p> </p><p>“When will you be back?” He asked, but he knew the answer and he<em> hated </em> it. He hated that he had let this happen, that he had let her into his bed time and time again, that he held her and cared for her but never told a soul. Why couldn’t he just tell people how he felt about her? Why couldn’t he tell himself? </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a precise date in mind,” she answered hesitantly, no longer making eye contact with him. She instead stared, unblinking, at the windowsill directly opposite her. “I need to… learn,” she said, and he could see the regret etched in every taut muscle, every premature line on her face. </p><p> </p><p>They never spoke of emotions; never really spoke in daylight at all - until now. She would usually tell him that it would be the last time, that she wouldn’t be seeing him soon, and give a small smile. He would kiss her cheek, and they would both know that she’d be back in the following days or the next time that Teddy wasn’t with him. </p><p> </p><p>“What can you learn in Paris or Florence that you can’t learn here?” He demanded, standing and striding toward her at the first sign of a glossy film over her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what I need to learn, but I need to be -” she huffed very quietly and walked towards his bedroom door, only to turn and pause as her slender fingers grazed the handle. “I do <em> not </em>have to explain myself to you.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m afraid,” he said and pushed his arm in front of her as she tried to walk to the stairs. “I must insist. Pansy, <em> what do you need </em>?” </p><p> </p><p>It was an odd question for him to ask outside of his bed. He had never, not once, asked if she needed anything. His help had always seemed to be absolutely the last thing she could ever want from him. She despised his altruism, his work ethic despite late in life wealth, and most of all seemed to despise that she clearly wanted him. </p><p> </p><p>“I need to know how to be happy,” she whispered. He wouldn’t have caught it if his hearing wasn’t exceptional, and she had to know he would have picked up on every choked syllable. “I don’t <em> know </em> how to be happy. There is <em> so much </em>I don’t know.” </p><p> </p><p>His breath caught, because this was unprecedented. Pansy Parkinson was a woman who had carefully cultivated an image that people no longer<em> hated </em> , exactly, but one that no-one really thought much of at all. She remained silently wealthy, formidable, but wholly… unremarkable. She <em> certainly </em> did not show vulnerability. He moved his hand from the wall blocking her to her face, cupping her chin to tilt it upward so that her eyes would meet his own, but she closed them in a fluttering of sooty lashes. </p><p> </p><p>“I would rather -” there was a wobble in her voice that she clearly found inexcusable, because in scant seconds her eyes were dry and she met his gaze. “I would rather be - I would rather do <em> this </em> - alone. I can’t be another war criminal who falls at the feet of a hero, begging for their forgiveness and for them to bestow their affection upon me.” </p><p> </p><p>Remus couldn’t, under any circumstances, picture Pansy falling at anyone’s feet. Pansy would never <em> fall. </em>She could never, not when he was already on his knees for her four days out of the month. </p><p> </p><p>More than four days. </p><p> </p><p>“Who told you that you have to do everything by yourself?” He asked quietly, attempting to catch a glimpse into her mind, to see where this had all started. Had Nott tried to talk her out of it? Was that why he was there last night? Had her friends had told her to end it? </p><p> </p><p>“I was taught to be self-sufficient in all things,” she sniffed and tried to pull her gaze towards the stairs again. </p><p> </p><p>“Whoever taught you that has obviously never known <em> you </em> . You don’t <em> need </em> anyone, Pansy, but you could <em> want </em> someone. You could prefer to have someone around.” </p><p> </p><p>“Are you suddenly asking for me to be <em> around </em> , Lupin?” She only used his last name when he was pushing the wrong buttons - like when he had implied that she could kneel in his shower, and she explained that she would not be injuring her joints on porcelain for the likes of <em> him.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I could be, <em> Parkinson </em> , but then you’d have to do something far more terrifying than change,” he said, pushing her against the wall and framing her face with his forearms. Sometimes the only way to get through to a heavyweight in dramatic conversation was to join them in the ring. “You would have to be <em> happy </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>She pulled free of him almost immediately; he hadn’t been holding her there in the first place, but he’d hoped he could convince her to remain just a little longer. She marched toward the stairs where she located one high-heel at the top, and another strewn halfway down. She moved with purpose as she shrunk both shoes down so that they would fit in the small handbag she had been carrying the night before. From the very same bag, Pansy removed a very small pair of brown crocodile leather loafers and expanded them to the correct size. </p><p> </p><p>“Happine-” she started, her voice clearly no longer as controlled as she normally kept it. “Happiness,” she began again, far more restrained. “Is a myth created by Gryffindors in order to trap people who don’t deserve it.”</p><p> </p><p>She placed her shoes on the ground and carefully placed her feet into them. Remus stopped to watch her as the gentle curve of her arch sank into the shoes that might have cost more than his mortgage. He flicked through the people in his brain that she referred to: individuals brought together by his son’s first birthday following the War. He had been missing Dora too much to notice that half of those in attendance had been tried and found innocent of crimes against wizarding-kind. He also hadn’t noticed at the time that Pansy Parkinson had exacted her revenge from being dragged to the birthday party of a werewolf’s one-year-old child by <em> seducing </em>that werewolf. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t need to leave to change, if that's what you really think you need,” Remus said, choosing his words very carefully. She was right that he couldn’t assure his happiness, he had never been any good at Divination. “You could change <em> with </em> me,” He offered very quietly but he knew she’d heard it because she scoffed. He could feel her writhing and squirming, searching for a way to push him away. Usually, if they got this far into a heated debate, she would bring up his wife, or his <em> dead wife </em>as she preferred to put it when he had truly gone too far. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh please,” she scoffed and he sighed in relief that she hadn’t chosen to punish him. “Why would you change? You’re a war hero, single father who has <em> abs </em> at 43. In what world would you need to change?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m a 43-year-old man who is hiding the woman he lo- he <em> cares for deeply </em> from his son. He is hiding a relationship that means something to him from everyone who would want to know. From everyone who should know,” he said, a lump in his throat. It hurt as he repeated all the things he knew were wrong with what he was doing, because even if Pansy thought that telling people about them would somehow ruin it, <em> he </em> was a big part of that problem. He had not let her see Teddy in person outside of his yearly birthday parties in 3 years, and why? Because he was happy with someone who wasn’t Dora? </p><p> </p><p>Yes. </p><p> </p><p>“This is ridiculous. I’m leaving,” she scoffed. Remus saw that the glassy wetness had returned to her eyes for the briefest of moments, but was quickly gone again - if only because she had turned toward the door. </p><p> </p><p>“I’d like you to stay,” he said, reaching for her arm but getting her hand. They were too close to the front door, her escape was too easy. “I’d like you to stay and for you to do whatever you need to do <em> with </em> me, while I do whatever I need to do. You don’t have to see Teddy right away, but you could be around when he’s here.” He took a deep breath, aware that he was dangerously close to pleading. “Pansy, I don’t know what’ll happen, but it could be better. <em> We </em> could be better.” </p><p> </p><p>He gave her the best puppy dog eyes he had. He gave her the eyes that failed to stop Sirius from running to the Ministry,  failed to stop Dora from joining him in Battle; and now they failed to make her stay, because she pulled from his nonexistent grip and pushed herself through the front door. </p><p> </p><p>As it slammed, he heard her body weight sag against the outside of the door and the dull thud of her head hitting the wood. He braced his body weight against the door frame and pressed his forehead just below the peephole. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me you don’t want to leave. You don’t need to leave, you don’t <em> need </em> to change. But if you want to change, I want to change with you and <em> be with you </em>.” He snapped. He knew he was already speaking loudly enough that she could hear him through the heavy wood, but it was not the time of the month when his emotions could be easily hidden. “You can change right next to me.” </p><p> </p><p>He heard her sigh and sag a little more into the door, and Remus knew that if he opened it now she would fall backwards into his arms. He could convince her to stay, and maybe he could convince her that she already had changed so very much. She was the Death Eater daughter of Death Eater parents and she had his war hero heart in her fist. </p><p> </p><p>And then her hand was on the door handle, the cold metal juddering, and held his breath. </p><p><br/>
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